


Starcaller

by LizzieAddamsTookAnAxe



Category: Cthulhu Mythos - Fandom, Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Consentacles, Eldritch Abominations, F/M, Interspecies Breeding, Lovecraftian, Multi, Other, Tentacles, Teratophilia, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-13 23:55:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17497736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzieAddamsTookAnAxe/pseuds/LizzieAddamsTookAnAxe
Summary: We have always called out to the stars.Five hundred years ago, they answered.Now we give our flesh to them to be remade.





	1. Prologue

_We have always looked to the stars._

_What are they? Orbs of fire? Luminescent insects? Portals to the heavens? Whatever explanation one believed, the races of Verden have always looked to the night skies and wondered…_

_‘What is out there?’_

_Five hundred years ago, we found our answers._

_A scholar named Helga Hladgerdsdottir, who would come to be known as Helga Starcaller, pioneered the earliest method of reaching out through sorcery to the heavens, to speak with the stars. SomeTHING spoke back. What she found drove her mad with terror._

_Gods? Titans? These Great Old Ones were utterly alien to our limited minds, neither dead nor alive they slumbered. On the frigid Plateau of Leng, in the neverwas city of Carcosa and the sunken city of R’lyeh, they slumbered dead and dreaming. From the barest brush of their dreaming consciousnesses, Helga learned of the maddening things to be found in the black spaces of the universe, of the gods that lay dead and dreaming between the folds of space and time, waiting for the stars to come right and the eldritch energies of the all-that-is to reach sufficient pitch that they could live again. She learned of our creation as slaves for these gods, of the alien truths lurking in our very blood, of the ancestors that came before us and the beings that shared the world with us._

_She learned of the inimical nature of existence, of the feebleness of Man and Elf and Dwarf and Orc, and awoke to knowledge of The Star-road, the philosophy of evolution, personal and species-wide, that would allow us to transcend our petty limitations and join Them in their eternal cavorting between the stars._

_Maddened yet joyous, terrified yet afraid, Helga walked the Star-road as the first warlock of the Great Old One Pact._

_Such warlocks have guided the development of the races for five centuries, laying down the evolution, both cultural and biological, of entire species; breeding into mortal bloodlines the strange vigor of the lesser eldritch races in hopes of speeding our development, that we might meet the Old Ones on more equal footing when the Rising comes. Deep One, Kn’yan, Illithid, Aboleth, beholder and slime- all had traits that could be melded and refined in the furnaces of mortal wombs in order to improves the races as a whole._

_Yes, wombs. The Star-road demanded the mortal races transcend that mortality, but the path of individual enlightenment was too slow and unreliable to chance. No risks could be taken with the survival of the world; we would have to cheat. If there was no times to claw our way up into the next step of evolution, we would breed that step into ourselves._

_Such sacrifices were, after all, a small thing when compared to the glory of the promised future. And besides, such matings were hardly unpleasant..._


	2. Chapter One: In Which History is Discussed And an Expedition Planned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our bold heroes meet in a smoky study, sharing drinks and planning their Bold Adventures!

“Thousands of years ago, Verden was dominated by a race of beings from the stars. Scholars and occultists named them ‘Elder Things,’ but obviously this is merely a modern term. Some sources say their most favored servants were permitted to call them the Q’hrell. Regardless of the name, these star-spawned radiates-”

“Radi-whats?”

The scholar sighed, shooting the man a sharp glare. “Radiates. A radiate is a lifeform that is radially symmetric, and thus has no left or right side, only a front and back or top and bottom. Starfish, certain flowers, sea anemones-”

“Anemeno-whatsits and starfish, right. Space starfish ruled the world, got it.” He took a swig of his beer, wiping the foam from his lips with one already-stained sleeve. His worn leathers and dull, unpolished breastplate -not to mention the large revolver holstered at his side- showed that he was a professional gunslinger. His wary eyes and the traces of grey he had survived long enough to develop at his temples showed he was a good one. Couldn’t the magister have dumped a bucket of water over his head before allowing him to keep company with civilized folk, though? “Ah, that hits the spot! Dark as the inside of- well. Anyways. Space starfish. You were sayin’?” Gods save her from ruggedly handsome men. At least the leather pants were nice and tight.

The scholar sighed again, suppressing the urge to pour herself something alcoholic in turn, and sipped at her tea before replying. “Yes, as I was saying, these star-spawned radiates-”

“Fish,” the elven ranger offered helpfully. Gods save her from lethally beautiful women. The answering glare would have boiled the flesh off of a lesser woman, but she merely blinked her inhumanly pale eyes innocently back from where she was sprawled across her armchair. She had remained silent until now, seemingly content to soak up the warmth of the study’s open fire while idly leafing through a copy of Gerion’s Anatomy. Thorrun was pleased to see she handled it gently, at the very least. It was, after all, a first edition.

“-ruled the world from their great silver city, deep in the icefields of the farthest North.”

“...it would tarnish, wouldn’t it?” This latest interruption from Magister Hoffenstein, the man providing funding to the expedition. A portly gentleman garbed in well-tailored brocade robes of a notably tasteful deep green. Not the most courageous of men, not the most scholarly, but a deep admirer of learning, and a generous man.

“Pardon?”

“Silver. Wouldn’t it tarnish? Even if the water was all frozen, surely silver tarnishes too easily to be a durable building material?” He stroked his neat ginger beard in a manner he no doubt thought made him look wise, and took an elegant burlwood pipe out from a waist pouch and began filling it with tobacco.

“Not, I am sure, actual silver. Some manner of unrusting alloy. Regardless, the Elder Things rule the world, dominating the primitive beings that dwelled there- us, if that wasn’t clear, or our ancestor-species at the very least- with advanced alien technology. They ruled for aeons, until the coming of a second race of star beings, who referred to themselves as Cthulhi, the children of the god-priest Cthulhu. Occultists refer to them as Star Spawn. They were not, in any way, fish.”

The ranger and sellsword looked suitably chastened. The Magister simply nodded amiably.

Scholarly thoroughness forced her to add, however reluctantly, “They were, in fact, cephalopodic.”

“Oh, I know that one,” the sellsword muttered. “Uh, sephapods, er-”

“Squid,” the ranger supplied, dark lips turnings upwards, just slightly. “Tentacles.”

“Quite,” Thorunn interrupted before the sellsword could sink his teeth into the notion of cephalopodic aliens and their tentacles. Not that Thorunn had ever entertained any improper thoughts about tentacles. Not at all. In fact, she had no clue why the ranger or sellsword might find tentacles amusing, much less in any lascivious manner. Perfectly efficiently designed limb, the tentacle. Utterly non-sexual and oh who was she kidding? That grin on her face, the ranger saw right through her.

Pushing the notion of the Cthulhi’s tentacles (slippery, agile, wet- no) from her mind, she continued. “The Cthulhi warred with the Elder Things, the Star Spawn’s eldritch” -she politely ignored the whispered conversation between ranger and sellsword as to the meaning of the word ‘eldritch’- “sorcery against the Elder Thing’s advanced technology. Bizzare weapons reshaped the face of Verden, species went extinct while other were built from scratch by the Elder Thing fleshmasters. Until the war ended in a bitter stalemate, with the Cthulhi retreating to their city of R’lyeh, which they sunk into the depths of the Atlantshafið, probably somewhere near the Pole of Accessibility-”

The ranger roused herself enough to lean over to the sellsword and whisper “The part of the ocean furthest from any land,” to the sellsword’s understanding nod.

“Yes, exactly,” Thorunn agreed, giving her a grateful smile. “They sunk their city as far away from land as they could, and their enemies retreated behind the walls of the Silver City.” She leaned forward over the table, eyes alight with eagerness. “My friends. Two weeks ago, we found that city.”

~O0O~  
  //|\\\

“Well, now that presents me with the perfect opportunity for a brief interruption,” the Magister said.

“Here, now,” the sellsword interrupted. “We were just at the good bit!”

“Yes, well,” the other man replied primly, “Introductions are ‘good bits,’ too. And, might I add, quite traditional for the beginnings of adventures! Do allow me to begin, yes? Magister Gerhard Hoffenstein. I have the singular honor of being both the head of the Istland Free Trade League and chairman of the Vegvisir Club.”

“Our most gracious host,” the ranger added, inclining her head politely. “I am Innawith, Heleg-Feredir of the Edhel Tauronath. In your tongue, that would be Ice-Huntress of the Elven Forester’s Guild. Please, no wordplay,” she added, glaring at the swordsman, who had grinned at the word ‘tongue’. “I know you too well, Skallagrim Inarsson.”

“‘Who, me?” the gunslinger replied mildly, affecting an expression of exaggerated innocence.

“Seeing as you are the only In-”

“And I am Thorunn,” the scholar interrupted brusquely. “Doctor Thorunn, as the case may be, a researcher with the Ósýnilegur University. I have a doctorate in Xenoarchaeology -a discipline for which I wrote the introductory textbook might I add- and masters in Archaeological Anthropology and Non Human History. Er, not to brag,” she added apologetically. “Really, xenoarchaeology was something of an empty field before the events of ‘79, so I had little competition, and… well. You take my meaning.”

“Thor bugger me,’ Inar muttered. “Well, I feel proper eclipsed. Suppose that explains why you know so much about Elder Things and ice cities. Would have thought that sort of thing would have been in all the papers.”

“Ah,” she said, eyes alight with the sort of mania you tend to find in dedicated scholars asked to speak on their chosen fields, “Naturally, you remember the papers in ‘79, yes? ‘Astounding Findings of Ancient Aliens’ and the like?”

“Yeah, sure. Stone tablets, right? Talked about aliens, everyone thought it was a hoax or some sort of advertisement for a radio show. Big news for a month, and then nothing.”

“Yes, quite. Simply put, in 1879 an joint expedition between the Vegvisir Club and the Ósýnilegur University discovered a nearly complete set of stone tablets called the Ankhoratic Tablets, in a stone temple in-”

“Ankhora, one presumes,” Iniwith said.

“Well, yes. Not the most inventive naming scheme, but it works. Regardless, we had uncovered fragmentary copies of the tablets before the Ankhora discovery, and of course purported translation of the fragments were well known in occult circles-” She pronounced the word ‘occult’ with the sort of elevated disdain typically reserved for foot fungus or tax collectors- “under the title The Seven Revelations of Chok-Ha. We’d never been able to verify the purported translations, which claimed to have been translations of the complete text, due to the obvious fact that we had no complete copy. And, of course, the language was utterly unknown and appeared related to no known language.”

Magister Hoffenstein gave a slight cough and a politely impatient expression, and Thorunn finished hurriedly, “Fortunately, the temple at Ankhora had inscriptions in both said language, Aklo, and the ancestor language of the local tongue, and so we were able to translate the tablets, which as I am sure you have already realized contained the tale I previously related. Utterly contrary to the mess of humanocentric nonsense that the so-called ‘occult’ texts claimed, but that is a matter for another time.”

“And thus,” Magister Hoffenstein said, “that we have invited you here. The Ankhoratic Tablets failed to give precise coordinates for the cities of the Elder Things, and of course Nordland is somewhat hostile terrain so exploration has been… difficult.”

“Yeah, like poor Amundsen discovered when he froze to death there in, what, ‘68,” Inar interrupted. “The place is the icebox of the Jotnar, the frigid jumping off point of Hel. Far enough away from civilization that it’s, what, six months sailing from the northernmost shore of Istland, and cold enough to freeze the piss before it even gets out of your cock, begging the ladies pardons.”

The ladies politely indicated that they took no offense, but gave each other subtle looks of shared weary disdain.

“Yes, quite,” Hoffenstein replied, quite disgusted. “Must you use such language in front of ladies, Inar? This isn’t a bar, do show some class. Regardless, you are quite right with regards to the distance. Six months by ship, requiring a good icebreaker no less which are hard to find, and then only the gods know how long an exploration of the entire continent would take on foot. Discovering the Silver City would be a miracle indeed. Fortunately, we have two things going for us.”

Inawith nodded slowly, an expression of dawning comprehension gracing her narrow features. “The translated tablets included a map, I would presume.”

The magister smiled. “The tablets, no, actually. The bas reliefs on the wall of the temple, however, contained what we are certain are somewhat stylized maps of Nordheim. While of course we have no accurate maps of the interior to compare it to, the details of the coastline largely match our own maps, with some small degree of difference attributable to, oh, what was it? Continental drift or some such. Or possibly our maps are imperfect. Or due to the art style. Regardless. While there is no coordinate system used, and the icon that we presume represents the silver city covers quite a large area, we have been able to determine a general location.”

“That,” Iniwith pointed out, “was one thing. The other?”

“Why, the ship!”

  
~O0O~  
  //|\\\

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
